A ghost's love story
by shreyansh.vatsyayan
Summary: A fragile love story of people departed, in search of solace. Waiting for the course of time to change tides or for memories to fade off. But in vain, only to realize that death strengthens love and burns a hole in the chest.


I can see a ghost.

He is with me when no one is around. No, I'm not imagining things. No, i'm not on medication. He exists, he really does. It's been very long since I first saw him, I don't correctly remember what happened that night. But whatever it might have been, it has changed me. Since that day till today, I keep seeing him. Sometimes he's in my house when no one is around. Some nights, I see him in my room. On my chair when I'm asleep. No, I'm not insane.

I can talk to a ghost.

People ask me whom do I talk to when I'm all by myself. I do not tell them, not only because I think they won't believe me, but because he once asked me not to tell them. Yes, he talks. Not always, but when he wants to. Sometimes I wake up to find him looking at me. He smiles. He scared me a few times, when he appeared out of nowhere or disappeared into thin air, but I got used to it. Eventually, slowly. He can still startle me though, but never does it, not intentionally.

Maybe, of some things, you can never get used to.

So he sits and I talk, I ask questions, I tell things, he barely speaks, smiles mostly. He looks out of the window, towards clouds or at the street, sometimes through my neighbour's broken window, I don't remember if I ever saw it fixed, it has always been like this, broken. While I talk he looks at everything except me. He looks at me while I'm sleeping or when I'm not looking, I wonder why. I ask him. But that's one of the many questions he never seems to have listened to. Only time he talked was when dad came knocking, he told me not to say anything about him. I wasn't going to.

I can touch a ghost.

He never told his name, I asked. I know he knows mine. Though he doesn't talk, he has been visiting frequently lately. He comes in late, probably waits for me to doze off. Maybe he doesn't want to meet me. But then, why would you visit someone, if it wasn't to meet? Maybe he just wants to look at me, do I look amusing? Or maybe I remind him of someone. I have learned a little about ghosts, they stay back in search of peace. They find solace to leach off this world. This one seems to have found it, or maybe not, but he looks calm, and he is always simling. Sometimes I wonder if he is actually dead? But he smells the same every night, looks the same. His face shines when lights are out and moon is bright.

I wasn't coming home that night. I was out with friends, in a party. We don't party much anymore, but that a friend's birthday, a close one's. Hence, the party. I got to touch him that night, he held my hand, just for a moment. And just in that moment I though he was not real, I began to doubt myself. Ghosts can't touch, maybe I was going crazy, maybe I needed help. He was in the party that night, in the crowd. No one knew him, no one invited him, and no one saw him. Yet he danced with me, he held my hand. Now that I think of that, maybe he was not supposed to hold my hand, why else would someone disappear in a blink. I believe he is a ghost. I haven't seen him since, but I feel he still comes when I'm not aware, he still looks at my face when I'm not looking. I wish he would have said a few more words for me to remember. I don't remember his voice.

It has been weeks, I don't remember his face anmore, just a vague outline. I wonder, what if he was an illusion? Why doesn't he show up anymore. I want him to just sit on my window and look at the moon. I want him to look at me.

It's been an year, I still go to her place, I sit on her chair, on her window. I remember when I told her not to tell her dad about me. She said, she wasn't going to. I wished she'd have told him. Doesn't matter now. I sit on her window and look at the stars, I look at the street, I look at the neighbour's broken window, I wonder if he knows its broken.

Her father doesn't stop me from visiting, he even lets me stay now. I wish she'd sit by my side and talk like she used to, without catching a breath while I look at her. I tried to look at her, even when she was not there. I used to stare at empty pillow, imagining her face, but couldn't see her. I wish I could.

She was with friends that night, I could only know when she was gone already. I went to see her, one last time before funeral. She smelled the same, looked the same, just with eyes closed. I couldn't cry. In fact, I haven't cried yet. It hurts, but I can't cry, I don't understand why. I want her to come back, maybe that is why I visited her place, but she is not coming back. And I'm not going back there. I want her to remember me, even in death. I wish it is not too much to hope for.

I wish. Only if I could see ghosts.


End file.
